Stained
by razzamatazz73
Summary: Blood stains a lot of things. Like friendships. And Jim Kirk's clothing. Hurt!Jim, crew friendship.
1. Glass, Part I

**Author's notes: I must apologize to begin with- my Star Trek knowledge is limited to the five or six times I've seen the new film, a week worth of web-searching, and the two or three episodes of TOS I've been able to catch.**

**So… please don't shoot me if anything isn't accurate? And let me know.**

**Now that that's over and done with… I've "retired" from fanfiction writing, but the plot bunnies wouldn't die (although I tried, but a bunny genocide is NOT something I want to worry about right now). But I know myself, and every time this happens, I start writing a plot, think it's spectacular, and then lose interest within a month or so. So, I've determined that the best way NOT to disappoint readers with an unfinished story is simply to write each chapter as if the story could end there. **

**I'm a Kirk freak; and I'm even more in love with Hurt!Jim and Worried!Enterprise crew, so that is the premise of this story. It may turn out to be a collection of one or two chapter short stories under that theme, or a greatly extended plot (most likely the former). Who knows. Let's see how this goes. **

**And I promise that this is the one time the author's notes will be so long.**

**Title: **_**Stained Glass**_

**Relationships: Crew/Jim friendship, mostly concentrating on Uhura/Jim friendship and Bones/Jim friendship (aka no slash).**

**Summary: He always made an impression on all of them, but it was up to them to turn the tables. **

It was one thing for the crew of the U.S.S. Enterprise to shirk their duties for a few brief moments, fully intending to return to their posts and jobs after enjoying themselves or performing whatever task was at hand. And someone was usually watching the readings; after all, the ship couldn't possibly be left to her own devices, aimlessly drifting and wandering through the beautifully monotonous sky.

The scene reflected at the present was a different matter completely. All of the filled chairs on the bridge were swiveled towards the center, the posts they were intended to support ignored and abandoned. Their eyes were fixated on a single point in the room, surprisingly not the looming space visible from the window, even if it was filled with tiny, distracting diamond-bright spots of white dotting the entirety of the area.

Not even the stars could absorb their attention right now. The dark sky had once seemed mysterious and exciting to them, but now seemed to be in mourning. As they were. Black as their optimism, they turned away from it, the vastness of the sky seeming miniscule compared to their grief.

In the center of the room, still as the crew's neglected posts, sat an abruptly empty chair.

Sulu, Chekov, Uhura, and even Spock- they knew what that empty chair meant, and who was supposed to be there, sitting in it. Barking orders, cracking a joke, laughing hysterically at something no one cared to understand.

It also reflected moments that might never occur again outside of the room. Flirting with anything in a skirt, a cockiness that wouldn't disappear with a punch, a bold determination, and outstanding leadership that had evaporated in the span of a few minutes of misfortune…

And yet he was gone.

A single man stood in the doorway, witnessing the pathetic scene, his eyes the only set present not filling up with a glassy haze at the thought, instead misting over with determination. He unsteadily leaned against the frame, the blue fabric of his shirt seeming to blend in with the mood of the room. He flashed a hand over his sweaty face and through his dark hair, wiping away the expected perspiration. It was obvious that this silence wasn't going to improve the situation, and he intended to do something about it.

"We're going to find him," McCoy's voice broke through at once, roughly breaking as it cut through the rough and clear silence that had overcome the crew. "We're going to find him. _Alive_."

Uhura suddenly rose from her chair, drifting to where Spock sat and purposefully and inconspicuously lacing her long, dark fingers with his, both sets of hands leathery from repeated abuse from tapping at touch screens and keyboards for hours on end. "Doctor McCoy, the chances that the Captain will come back unharmed, let alone alive are-"

"Jim Kirk has saved your ass more times than you can even remember. All of you," Bones spat back, ignoring the fact that the seemingly emotionless Vulcan he had just walked past had tightened his grip on the young woman's hand.

Spock felt the heat rise to his pointed ears, but ignored it. "It is simply illogical to expect that-"

"-most of which you didn't even know he was doing anything!" McCoy interrupted, waving both of his hands to emphasize his point.

_How can he be so optimistic_? Uhura mused. Was this the same phobia-prone doctor they were all so used to?

"But all that blood, sir…" the young Ensign whimpered behind them. Chekov and McCoy had been the ones to find it all, after all.

They let the silence wash over them for a few moments as flashes of scenes attempted to connect themselves in their minds.

Exiting the planet they had just visited the night before, all of them exhausted, and Kirk telling them all, with his trademark smirk, to get to bed so he could "work their asses off" the next day when they were bored as they traveled to their next destination. He gave them a wink and a slanted wave before making his way to his own bed. That was the last any of them had seen him.

The realization that the Captain had not shown up to the bridge that morning.

The sudden fear that had crept into their hearts as they rushed down to the Captain's quarters.

The forced entry at his door, only to find a mess. Broken glass and plastic littered the floor, their translucence masked by dots of an ominous, thick red liquid smeared over everything. An empty, unmade bed, the once-pristine sheets tangled into themselves on the floor in a pitiful wrinkled jumble, spotted with more blood than it seemed a human could contain.

And yet… Captain James T. Kirk was no where to be found, although a blubbering, sobbing Scotty reported that a missing escape shuttle might have something to do with it.

And here they were at the present, a grief-stricken mess. A lonely cat without its master, a loveless, idol-less teenage girl. A crew without its beloved captain was nothing.

"I'm a doctor, damnit kid, not a moron. I think I know what blood means. But if any of you- _any_ of you- think that Jim would be sulking around if it was any of you, then you're wrong. You're _dead_ wrong, damnit," McCoy cut in, his voice trembling as he spat out the words, stringing together a statement that he refused to believe was false.

Uhura rose shakily from her position, gently releasing Spock's firm caress of her fingers, and found herself laying a comforting hand on the good doctor's back. "Leonard, I know how hard this must be for you, losing your best friend like this, but we have to face the facts: J-Jim, Jim is dead. There is no way he could have survived an attack like that, even if… Even if…"

She found herself in tears, pressing her body up against the wall in shock and heartache. If someone would have told her a year ago, even six months ago when she was still attending training at the academy, that she would ever have been broken, sobbing, shocked, even grief-stricken, over the death of Jim Kirk, she would have laughed in their face, or have come up with an extremely witty statement inquiring why the unbeatable, relentless force that was her reluctant yet bold and brilliant friend would possibly have the chance to confront death in any situation that didn't involve his own stupidity.

Bones squeezed his eyes shut in a hopeless attempt to purge all of the gory pictures of the last few hours out of his mind. He opened them, and began to speak again. "I _know_ James T. Kirk. I saw him live through three broken limbs, nine cracked ribs, seventeen sets of cuts needing stitches or glue, a punctured lung, and fourteen bar fights- all during three years at the academy. And he would _never_ let anyone tarnish his record without fighting back. Or expecting us to fight back for him. Jim _is_- not was, damnit, I absolutely refuse to talk about him like that- the best friend any of you will ever know. And we are _not_ going to give up on him this easily. Now who is with me?" McCoy bravely inquired, his voice firm and unwavering. He paused, breathing heavily after his grand speech, expecting some sort of immediate response.

But none was given for a moment, the shocked and bitter silence crashing over the bridge once more like a tireless wave.

Logic and emotion had been dueling in Spock's mind for several hours now, the winner struggling to escape. And with Bones's determined and heart-filled statement, he found his answer. _To hell with all of it_, he thought, as the two sides of his Vulcan mind overlapped.

"My thoughts lie with Doctor McCoy's," he spoke suddenly, and although his fellow crew members did not audibly respond, he sensed their shock in the silence; an almost collective mental gasp rang through their heads. "It is logic, after all," he stated quite stoically. "The Captain has cheated the inevitableness of death too often for us to abandon _all_ hope."

Optimism rose through the room, starting from the floor to the ceiling.

"I, too, have decided to join Doctor McCoy," a thickly accented voice cut through the silence like a knife, "in the quest to save our beloved Captain from… well, whatever it is he is up against."

Sulu recklessly stood up, attracting all of the attention in the room to his aloofness. "Me, too!" he shouted almost too excitedly, before slowly sitting down and letting the redness that had crept into his cheeks from embarrassment vanish. "I mean," he added, composing himself, "he's got to be out there somewhere. And we're going to find him."

Uhura's tear-filled eyes squinted in happy disbelief, and she let a small smile creep onto her dark and depressed features. "Count me in," she whispered, the sadness not yet vanished from her highly trained voice's tone.

_I'm going to slap you, Capt-ain Kirk, _she thought, _the second we find you_.

* * *

"Here?" McCoy shouted. "Are you absolutely _sure_, Chekov?"

"Yes, sir. If my calculations are correct-" an accented voice began before being cut off by a different, rougher voice.

"Oy, laddie, I helped!"

Chekov sighed, showing a rare sign of frustration before speaking again. "If… the theoretical calculations projected by Mr. Scott and myself combined with the actual data we've managed to collect and organize are correct-"

McCoy's voice crackled over the communicator. "Get to the point kid; we don't know how much time we have! I'm a doctor, not a science critic! I don't care how you get us there, as long as you do!"

"-then you are at the right location, and Captain Kirk should be in the general vicinity," the young Ensign finished with a flourish. He was proud of the loyalty he had shown; he had done his part in the investigation by leading them there. Now the rest was up to them.

The group, consisting of Spock, Uhura, and McCoy, found themselves on the planet they had left only the day before, a "logical" place to start searching. Sulu, Scotty, and Chekov tracked what they could, leading the others as they made their way through an abandoned church.

Only a day before, Kirk and Spock, as his first officer, met with the leaders of this small, but religion-dominated, civilization to discuss values, peacekeeping thoughts, and the most pressing issue: the planet's request for admission to the Federation. The meeting had gone without a hitch, with the polite but firm council members speaking their point and the U.S.S. Enterprise's young captain making only two or three passes at a female member of the council and only two off-color jokes. He was learning, McCoy mused, that diplomacy and personal lives didn't often mesh. The serious, middle-aged leader of the civilization, a man named Kaime, explained their situation with a stoic expression, making it clear that religion was everything to his people and their way of life.

Yet here they were, and it was puzzling. How had Kirk ended up here, and what did they want with him? The residents of the small planet had seemed firm, but welcoming.  
They took their values and religious beliefs seriously, and there hadn't seemed to be anything wrong with that before.

Chekov's navigating was never off, but it did seem odd that out of all of the grand cathedrals and simple chapels lining the streets, the one they were now visiting seemed to be in the most disrepair.

This particular place of worship's stone exterior crumbled into dark bits of dust and rock, ignored for quite some time by all who had passed it. The once beautiful and intricate designs carved into it had deteriorated into scarred rubble, littering the smooth, dirt ground around the building. In fact, the only part of the outside church that seemed to be in more than decent condition was the stained glass of the windows.

Flashy gold, deep violet, indigo, fleshy pink, bright crimson, and a brilliant emerald green detailed the elaborate glass pictures, forming multifaceted pictures that words could not describe, complex stories that were too involved to be shared by the tongue. And yet Uhura found that she, though a linguistics and communications expert, could assume little from these byzantine panels.

She ignored them as they entered the building. Why hide Kirk here? Who would bother to drag him to a random, abandoned building, let alone a church?

But as they kicked down the heavy, insect-eaten and worn wooden door, they saw a different scene through the splintered wood. They had expected to see some destroyed pews and a cracked alter, maybe some broken, knocked-over candles or a fallen lighting arrangement.

They did not, however, expect to see the illogical panorama before them. Instead of the cracked pavement or messy dirt floor they had predicted the church was built on, they viewed shiny and new wood, finished and polished to perfection. Simple wooden benches filled the majority of the hall, also gleaming with new and beautiful pride. They reflected the color from the panels in the elaborate glass windows, their light brown masked by shadows of brilliant color. An equally simple wooden altar adored the sanctuary, a light and white cloth of a particularly thin and papery fabric draped over its top as it cascaded down.

But the main scene-stealer of the church was behind the altar. The church had obviously been designed around it; it was pretty hard to miss.

Brick by brick and stone by stone, Spock, Uhura, and McCoy soaked in the outstanding piece of craftsmanship built in the back of the church. Intricate swirls wound their way up towards the peaked ceiling, resting on a floor of black and white tiles. A thin sheet of clear, beautiful water gracefully slid- no, ran- down the complex mosaic, ending up in a defined pool directly behind the altar. It was stunning; their heavy breaths of awe were covered by the loud crashing of the water at bottom. The curious thing was how a such a small amount of water could make such a tremendous amount of noise.

"Damn," McCoy spoke thoughtfully, and Uhura couldn't help but wonder if his mind was with Jim or his ex-wife at that moment.

"McCoy?" she asked gently, shattering his haze. She put a gentle hand on his blue –covered back and gave a gently, friendly pat.

"What was that, Doctor? I didn't catch that," Spock replied.

McCoy snapped back to reality, and found that he had to shout to be heard over the roaring of the water. "I said, 'Damn.' Some water show, huh?"

Spock seemed to think carefully before answering. "I do not think it is appropriate to speak such taboo language in a place of worship such as this, Doctor McCoy."

McCoy shrugged and continued through the church. "Jim's gotta be around here somewhere…"

"Kirk?"

"Jim?"

"Captain?"

They called out Jim's various aliases, hoping for a response, but found nothing.

"It's very curious," Spock muttered, almost to himself.

"What?" McCoy shouted, obviously not understanding the concept of silence.

"Why would the outside of such a building be in such disrepair, while the inside is-"

"-beautiful and pure," Uhura finished for him. "I don't get it either, Commander."

"Commander? From what your superior officer has told me, you two are much too familiar to use _rank_ to address each other," a booming voice echoed from the left side of the church.

"You! But… Where's Jim Kirk, and what have you done to him?" McCoy asked, surprising himself by keeping his voice stable and unwavering.

Kaime ominously walked forward to greet them. He did not laugh in satisfaction, nor frown at his visitors, maintaining a stoic, serious expression.

_Are we sure this place isn't a Vulcan colony?_ McCoy thought, suddenly scared again for his best friend's life.

He showed them the palms of his hands, offering them forward as a silent explanation

Hands that were covered in layers of blood- caked fragments of old, dried fluid, and fresh liquid running through his fingertips.

**Author's notes: This one's a two-shot; I thought I'd start things with a bang.**

**And remember, reviews are like candy! Or Pop Tarts. Which I don't even really like, but found myself starring at because they had a picture of Chris Pine as Kirk on the box. Until my little brother poked me and asked if I was feeling alright…**

**Review, and I will (figuratively) give you a cookie! Personally, I like black and white cookies. Yum!  
**

**-Marty :-D  
**


	2. Glass, Part II

**Author's Notes: Ha, I **_**said**_** that I wouldn't have any more really long author's notes, but I can't resist. **

**Oh my goodness! I totally did NOT expect… This! The reviews! The responses! The love for Chris Pine and all that is Hurt!Kirk! The love for fictional cookies that I promised but could never really give out because I'm nothing but a hopeless, poor teenage girl without a job or money! The love of obnoxiously long run-on sentences that don't make sense to anyone except…. Well, me!**

**I love you guys. Thank you to each and every one of you who reviewed! I'd also like to shout out the… er, 51 people who have this on alert and 11 people who have favorited this. I hardly ever favorite a story after only one chapter, so you guys have made me feel that much more awesome because you did.**

**And I see you. Yes, you. The lurkers! I appreciate you so much! You're awesome enough to read this and put it on alert! I've been there. But I like reviews… a lot. So even if you seriously just type in "Kirk = Love" into the box (oh joy, what am I getting myself into), I will be happy. **

**Who am I kidding? I'm be happy anyway. I love the support you've given me no matter what.**

**I'd like to point out that in the last chapter, Kirk didn't appear once. All I had to do was mention that he was hurt, missing, and everyone was worried, and **_**everyone got excited about the story,**_** which excites me!**

**Title: **_**Stained Glass**_

**Relationships: Crew/Jim friendship, mostly concentrating on Uhura/Jim friendship and Bones/Jim friendship (aka no slash).**

**Summary: He always made an impression on all of them, but it was up to them to turn the tables. **

Red. White. Red. White. Red. White.

_Where is it? It shouldn't be that hard to find. Wait… What's missing? Red, white…_

"A….nd… bl..ue?" he mumbled aloud without really thinking about it, getting another blow to the head from one of those guys in the black cloaks as a response. _If I'm going to die like this, I can at least pretend that it's a brave, bold, heroic, patriotic way_, Kirk mused, his mind sluggish and slow.

He couldn't actually see; he kept his eyes squeezed tight. There was no way that it would actually take away any pain, but… He wasn't exactly coherent enough to think of a reason.

It came in waves, the pain. One minute his mind was swimming in a sticky, marshmallow-y of a weird sort of frothy, bright light, absolutely numb, spreading from his toes to his fingertips in a slow-moving line. He couldn't tell if it was hot or cold, only that it like nothing. This was bearable. And then… His entire body would be set on fire; powerful red waves of electrocuting pain paralyzed everything. Every finger, every limb, every cell, every molecule, every atom… inside of him was _burning_. The fire was like an ocean during a storm, and he begged- no, pleaded!- for it to take him over and drown him. He wanted to die, he wanted it to end… Why couldn't they just kill him and get it over with?

It didn't help that two of that weird guy… Kaime? Was that his name? _Yeah, Kaime! Wait, why does it excite me to remember the name of the guy who… heck, he freaking tried to kill me. _Kirk found that he couldn't stay alert or attentive to one subject for very long, even in his own mind. He kept his thoughts to himself, holding a conversation with himself in his head to keep his mind of the pain and keep himself occupied.

It all came down to the fact that two of Kaime's "assistants" were now dragging him throughout the long back halls of that godforsaken church.

_Ha, godforsaken church. Isn't that ironic?_

If he was going to die, and he probably would soon, then he'd like to think that he still had his sense of humor. There was a lot of things he wanted to die with. And bravery was one of them, so he decided that maybe, just maybe, he didn't want it all to end just yet. He silently retracted his wish for death, hoping that no one had been listening.

They very eloquently introduced themselves as they barged into his quarters in the middle of the night, one them pinning him to a wall while the other one laughed and went at him with a particularly dull knife, ripping skin, tissue… he didn't want to think about it, didn't want to think of the pain. That Kaime guy, he didn't laugh. Nope. Never. He just went around… Slapping people… Or maybe it was just him. He hated guys who were too serious like that. At one point, Jim thought about asking him if there was any screwed-up genetic way he was partially or all Vulcan, but he thought better of it. _It might not be wise to piss off the guy who's trying to murder me if I want to live a little bit longer_.

But Kaime's cronies didn't mind laughing at his pain. Not at all. They giggled as they stabbed him, snorted while they watch him slowly bleed to death in front of them. They were clothed in simple black robes, tied with a long, twisted bit of a thin, gold rope. He really didn't get a good look (why would he want to unless they were of the female gender) under their robes, but he was pretty sure that the extensive dark fabric covered their bare, dirty feet. _That's sanitary_.

Red smeared all over the black and white tiles; it took a minute for him to realize that the sticky liquid was coming from him. He hadn't found connections like this easy in a while. His logic had evaporated, his common sense disappeared, his cognitive functions missing. _Spock would be very disappointed in me right now_, Kirk thought, and somehow, through all of his mind-numbing pain, he thought of his Vulcan friend and was overcome by a mixed feeling of relief and fear.

Maybe he was going crazy, but he could have sworn he heard Bones's voice.

"You! But… Where's Jim Kirk, and what have you done to him?" the voice declared, more of a demand than a question.

Kirk didn't have time to think about it, because the red came again. He twitched as the fire raged, prickling and stabbing him with dull, invisible knives. They did more damage, because they ripped instead of cut… It hurt so much…

_Bones…_ he thought, swimming through a sea of his own pain. _Bones will make it all go away… he always does…_

Bones always came through for him. That made Jim feel better; not physically, but maybe emotionally. Maybe there was hope.

He slowly drifted away… The red burned and burned until it was an ashy, charcoal black, and Jim knew nothing.

* * *

_Oh my god,_ Uhura thought, too paralyzed with fear and concern to speak, _that's Jim's blood_…

"What've you done to him?" McCoy roared again, Kaime's gory demonstration only intensifying his determination to find his best friend.

His best friend… She wondered what would happen if they were too late. She wasn't sure she could bear it. It had hit her hard earlier; she had pondered before why she cared so much before.

Nyota Uhura thought that Jim Kirk was a royal pain-in-the-ass, a no-good, cocky son-of-a-bitch who needed to be taught a lesson. But he was also a good friend, a charismatic, bold, and reckless man, and the bravest and brilliant leaders she'd ever known. He was a superior officer, friend, sleaze, and brother rolled into one.

It came over her quickly and suddenly, and time seemed to freeze as she looked at the two men accompanying her on the rescue mission. How would… What if… If Jim died, if, god forbid, they hadn't gotten there in time…

How would they possibly move on? Wasn't that the first thing they were taught at Starfleet Academy? Did it make her that much worse of a person because she felt… fear-Is that what it was?

Too many questions.

McCoy would lose more than a drinking buddy- this was his best friend they were talking about, after all. They had been each other's shoulders to cry on (not that she had ever seen a sober Kirk shed a single tear), through injuries, drunken rants, and anniversaries of deaths, birthdays, and divorces.

And Spock… Kirk kept hinting at something more than just a casual work relationship. As if there was a friendship already there, and he somehow knew about it. Sure, they didn't always agree, but it wasn't always necessary that they had to. Maybe this… resistance they showed each other was just present to give the other a different, positive way of reflecting on a situation. Uhura thought of the purple rings that had encircled his neck for sometime, and realized that this friendship was life or death. They were like children growing up; it took some time for them to learn each others quirks, for them to warm up for each other. And even though Spock didn't visibly show it, she knew, better than anyone else, that he was deeply concerned for the fate of his captain, his friend. They were more than just co-workers- they were friends. They had a special bond, even if it took them some time to figure it out.

So when Kaime showed them the palms of his hands, Jim's blood dripping and all, she felt something stir inside of her. And she didn't like it- not one bit.

She looked to her right. Spock looked puzzled; something about this situation was confusing and bewildering him. Completely at a loss, his normally stoic face was masked by the subtleness of this new and unwanted emotion.

"I do not understand," he stated, the perplexity trapped in his mind evident in his tone. "Enlighten us. Why have you taken our Captain? Did not the negotiations yesterday go as planned?" Spock inquired, breaking Uhura's trance.

Kaime folded his bloody hands inward and took a menacing step towards them. "You will recall, Mr… Spock? Is it Mr. Spock?"

The Vulcan nodded in response. "That is my name."

"Well, as you may remember from the deliberations and discussions yesterday, the morals, beliefs, and values of this society is what keeps us united. Any temptation should be treated with utmost caution, as it can drive away all that is good and moral."

_That is the definition of temptation_, McCoy thought. _I hate walking dictionaries_.

"It is my duty, as leader of this civilization, to purge all threats to that theory," the black-cloaked man continued. "And your Captain Kirk happens to be one of them."

The three Starfleet officers froze. Were they missing something?

"I'm sorry," McCoy began, the bitterness, resentment, and anger he had been shoving away in the back of his heart and mind bubbling up inside of him and threatening to burst through some verbal or physical attack. "I was not aware that the Captain offended you in anyway."

Kaime finally showed some emotion and was taken aback. "Your Captain Kirk did not offend _me_, personally. He offended this entire society. Tell me, Doctor, what is the first thing you thought of when you walked into this grand hall? What did you think when you saw the waterfall?"

Bones took a moment to think before he answered. "Well, I don't know," he said, the irritation oozing through his words. "I guess I thought, 'Why the hell does a church that looks so damn ugly on the outside look so good on the inside?'"

The man nodded. "I'll ignore your acidic tongue for now. You'll get your punishment in a moment." Kaime paused and looked at the various shocked and startled expressions being thrown around the Starfleet officers. "Come now. You didn't really think that I'd let you 'stumble' upon this fine society's headquarters and let you live, did you? No, no, no. It doesn't work that way. You answered correctly, Doctor McCoy. One of the greatest values of our society is that those that are decrepit on the outside are more than usually beautiful on the inside."

_He remembers my name but not Spock's?_

"Wait a minute. Nice theory, but why do you remember my name but not his?" the doctor inquired, puzzled.

Kaime shifted his weight onto the other foot. "Your friend the Captain called out your name once or twice. Don't worry," he hastily spoke, seeing their concerned faces, "your Captain Kirk is still alive. Barely, and not for long, but he's still alive."

Uhura blinked back the hot, stinging tears that threatened to pop out of her eyes. _You had better be okay, Jim…_

"Why take your Captain? Because he inspired… A sort of rebellion. You see, his evil ways seemed to have charmed one of the female council members, and that just won't do. We've already dealt with Senator Phawtay- she was executed for treason at dawn. People start to get ideas, think that they can get away with things, that things are acceptable… And that just won't do. So that is why we have taken your Captain Kirk- so that he might not inspire this temptation in anyone else. He has proven that those with flashy outlooks and exteriors may be hiding wickedness and deceit inside."

McCoy felt himself grow pale. "Are you telling me that you plan to assassinate the captain of Starfleet's flagship and have already executed one of the senior members of your council _just because she had the hots for him_?" he shouted.

It was one thing for Jim to start a bar fight over a girl, but this was intergalactic war they were talking about.

"If by 'the hots' you mean 'tempted by the evil, damning fires of hell,' then you are more in-tune with your soul than I would have thought. Maybe I'll let you live- you'd have some good insight for the council," Kaime pondered, shrugging it off. "Who knows. But your Captain Kirk is very near to his end. Punishment for conspiracies and heresy is death. And after Kirk has taken his last breath… it will be your turn."

He paused, and then knocked on a large, intricately carved wooden door. "Guards!"

Two looming, bald men threw open the door, bursting in. They dragged something limp and long behind them, and neither Spock, Uhura, or McCoy needed to guess what it was.

"Oh… Oh my god…" Uhura whispered at the sight, shocked.

"Damnit, Jim…"

The two guards tossed his body onto the lush black and white tile, smearing thick red all over. The crimson trail smudged behind them was bold around the ends and translucent towards the middle, a hideous and tragic sight for all to see.

Jim lay in a limp heap, too far deep in his painful unconsciousness to move. His once bright gold shirt was sprinkled with flecks of dust, dirt, and blood, with various sized holes exposing large and leaking rips in the skin and fabric, as well as purple and yellow bruises. Even unconscious, his breaths came out in loud, wheezing gasps, his chest barely moving at all as he tried to continue breathing. Dirt matted down his dark blond hair, coating every inch of exposed skin on his body. It mixed with the deep crimson blood to make a stark contrast against his ghostly white complexion. A pool of blood slowly grew around him as he lay, too deeply unconscious to realize what was happening.

He didn't move. He was too still. The same man who had nearly skipped onto his prized and esteemed ship only the evening before was near death, paralyzed by the red hot pain that he was too consumed by to show.

And if they didn't get him out of there soon, they would lose him.

Kaime sauntered over to Kirk's body and leaned over. He shook away the long sleeve of his charcoal robe to find a bony, pristinely clean hand. Coming closer to Jim's face, the evil man lightly gripped the captain's jaw turning it right and then left, looking for some sort of response. Finding none, he rose, satisfied, leaving Jim's features turned towards his heartbroken friends. "Still alive- but only just. His pulse is weak," he stated, stoic as can be.

"Jim… No," McCoy muttered, his voice a hoarse whisper.

The man grabbed Jim's wounded shoulder and shook, trying to rouse him. "He must be awake… He must be conscious! He must be awake when I kill him!" Kaime shouted, the first hints of a pleasant emotion overcoming his features. "You two- wake him up!"

The two men each gripped one of the wounded man's arms and dragged him to the looming waterfall. To the horror of his fellow officers, they bent him at the waist and shoved the upper half of his body under water in an attempt to wake him up.

"Gentlemen, I implore you to stop. You will kill him if you continue with this vile practice," Spock spoke, trying to hide the blatant emotion he was feeling.

"I think that's the idea, Spock!" McCoy hissed at the pointy-eared man.

Helpless, the three stood in one spot, paralyzed and unable to assist their dying, drowning friend.

They pulled Jim out, and upon seeing he was still unconscious and that they had not received a response, they forcibly dipped his head back into the water.

_Oh, there's the blue_, Kirk thought to himself, on the very brink of consciousness. He coughed and sputtered, struggling to breathe.

"No more… No more!" Uhura yelled. "He'll die!"

"That's the plan!" one of Kaime's thugs shouted gleefully.

Jim's blue eyes snapped open. He found himself too weak to move, and resigned himself to the pitiful puddle of… well, himself with a little blood. His lungs now burned in addition to the rest of his body, and he found it even more difficult to breathe. His throat was on fire, and every gasp of air felt like acid was being poured down his system.

_In… and out… and in… and… and… out_.

It was horrifying, standing there like that. They could see the spot where the guards had dumped him before, where a pool of blood remained, all crimson and shiny. The water hadn't done anything to wash the dirt off of Kirk's face, only coating it with a shiny, wet film that magnified his pain. And they heard him trying to breathe, his breath catching every once and a while, gasping and wheezing as they tried to stay alive.

They had to do something! But Kaime had already thought of that, and with a snap of his fingers, sent his guards over to keep them away.

_Two versus three… Should be easy_, Uhura mused.

They fought; a punch and a kick there, a blow to the head there. Those men were going down.

McCoy turned his head as he watched the second guard fell to the ground, just in time to see Kaime remove a very sharp knife (unlike the dull blades his men carried) from the inners of his robe, smile at it, and stab Jim in the shoulder.

Jim's face showed more strength then it had in some time as it contorted in pain. The fire was spreading, igniting his entire body with its flame. His mouth dropped open, and he said, "Oh… oh!" as Kaime twisted the blade into his skin and insides, blood dripping and spurting out of the massive injury.

"JIM! NO!" McCoy hollered, shoving the bodies of the men to the side as he pushed his way through.

McCoy and Spock sprinted towards the evil man and their fallen friend. Uhura leaned on a now knife-marred wooden pew, her hands flying to her mouth as she witnessed the gory and tragic scene.

Seeing that it was all over, Kaime ripped the knife out of Kirk's body and scooped him up in his arms, dropping his weapon to the ground. They saw the blood leak out of the fresh wound as Kaime ran with Jim, now barely conscious.

With his last effort, Kaime threw Jim's body into the water, face first, just in time for Spock to come at him with his own knife.

And in one motion, it was all over. The evil man fell forward, dead, coming to rest with a splash in the water. His dark, heavy robes weighed him down, and the man was no more. Jim was still; the pain had finally caught up to him, and he was stricken by unconsciousness.

They abandoned Kaime, and Spock gently dragged Jim's limp body out of the pool, ignoring the fact that his blood mixed with the water like tea from a teabag.

Uhura rushed over to take Jim from Spock, laying his body on the beautiful wooden floor. She fell to her knees by his side, taking a hand to wipe away the sweat and blood from his face, leaving but one line of cleanliness on his dirty skin. He was soaked through and through; the fabric of his gold shirt thick and heavy. It fell loosely around his body in a pathetic circle of bagginess.

She had never seen so much blood. And she had thought- hours before, before they had even left the Enterprise- that he was a goner- all that blood and the signs of a struggle in his quarters. She stroked his hair, watching as he worked to keep doing normally easy bodily functions like breathing.

He was so… still. So motionless. It was unreal, how quiet and unmoving he was. So out of character for him. She squeezed his hand, hoping for a response. "Jim? You still with me? Jim? C'mon, Ji-"

She stopped in her tracks. Something had changed… It was too quiet. He didn't wheeze or cough… No quick, sharp gasps of air…

And then it hit her. Calling out his name was useless. He was going to die... Oh, he would be dead in a matter of minutes if he didn't get help right then.

All hell broke loose as she figured it out- they had waited too long to get out of there. Several guards burst in- no, she recognized their faces. This was the entire council, or what was left of it. She watched as they took one look at Kaime's body floating in the pool and drew their weapons, ready to attack.

There was no time… His chest was still. Jim had stopped…

"McCoy… he's not breathing," Uhura shouted, panicking. "Help!"

**Author's notes: Extending this to one more chapter. Another cliff-hanger, I know. Well… Review please? I really like the responses I've been getting. It really makes me feel all nice and fuzzy inside, so keep it up! And this time… you guys get cookies AND the picture of Chris Pine as Kirk cut out from the back of the Pop Tart box. Ha!**

**Oh, and I decided that I'm going to give a shout out/plug to an awesome story each chapter, which means I have to (I have to make up for the last one). Everyone go read moogsthewriter's **_**Requiem**_**. I've read it at least nine times since it's been posted, and I get shivers every time. 'Cause the onlything better than Hurt!Jim is DeadButNotReally!Jim (yes, I gave it a name). And the other plug is Ginger Ninja's **_**Plant Life**_**, which has amazing McCoy/Kirk friendship and other Hurt!Jim awesomeness.**

**I truly haven't found such a skilled fandom since… ever, so this is truly amazing. Keep it up, guys! I encourage every one of you, even those of you who are "retired" like me, to write. Those plot bunnies are made of sugar- they are so addictive!**

**Thanks again, everyone! Stay tuned for the thrilling conclusion to _Stained Glass_!**

**And the next story will be up a few days after that. It's called _Stained Sheets_ as of right now, and most of the principle story takes place on the Enterprise itself.  
**

**Thanks again, everyone! Stay tuned for the thrilling conclusion to… Stained Glass!**

**And the next story will be up a few days after that. It's called "Stained Sheets," as of right now.**


	3. Glass, Part III

**Author's notes: Sorry for the delay! I'm really trying to get on a Tuesday/Saturday updating schedule, but life seems to get in the way. And then I got sick, which wasn't any fun. Especially when you have to babysit two kids everyday. **

**By the way, I stole the Pop Tarts box from the trash and cut Chris Pine's picture out. It is now tacked to my bulletin board, along with pictures of Johnny Depp, Christian Bale, John Krasinski, Zac Efron (slightly embarrassed by that one… it's only one picture!), and Robert Pattinson. My little shrine to hot guys in film. **

**I would like to (once again) thank everyone for the AMAZING response this story has gotten. I appreciate it more than I can say. You've dealt with cliffhangers and suspense better than I could. I would be sending angry messages by now, and I've only received wonderful feedback and encouraging reviews, and it really means a lot as a writer.**

**Up to nine times for the movie. I know some of you have seen it more, but that's a lot for me. Not that it beats the twelve times I saw **_**The Phantom of the Opera **_**in theatres (I'm more of a musical geek than a sci-fi geek… Yet I love Star Trek XI!) **

**Here is the thrilling conclusion to **_**Stained Glass**_**!**

**Title: **_**Stained Glass**_

**Relationships: Crew/Jim friendship, mostly concentrating on Uhura/Jim friendship and Bones/Jim friendship (aka no slash).**

**Summary: He always made an impression on all of them, but it was up to them to turn the tables. **

"McCoy!" Uhura yelled again, panicking. _Oh god,_ she thought. _He's not breathing. He's going to die, right here… In front of me. Oh god, oh god!_

McCoy spun his body around, a frozen and concerned look plastered on his face. He frantically glanced back and forth between Spock and Uhura, trying to make a decision.

"_McCoy!_" she shouted, almost pleading now. _Save him!_

It didn't matter what language she was translating, speaking, or even thinking. It didn't matter what had happened between them before, what their current opinions of each other were, or how this horrible experience would change them for the future. Jim was dying, just the same, and she had to get him help any way she could.

"Spock," Bones said, his voice serious. "Can you hold them off while I try to get him stable?"

Spock appeared to think for a moment before answering. _The Captain's current state of health will not allow time for hesitation_, he reminded himself. "I will try to handle the situation the best way I can," he answered finally, appearing to try to rally the rowdy crowd of angry politicians.

Bones rushed over to Jim, falling beside the gravely injured man's body. "Damnit, Jim…"

Uhura backed up, letting the doctor do what he did best- save lives.

Time seemed to move in slow motion, and she was its witness. McCoy breathed for Jim, trying not to look at the face of the man owning the life he was trying to save, trying to ignore that his best friend was bleeding out on the floor in front of him. He moved down to the captain's chest, immediately drawing back his hands after he made contact.

"What?" she hissed, no acid in her voice, only concern.

"I felt something move," Bones mumbled, replacing his hands to their previous position. "He already has at least one broken rib… that complicates things a bit."

She watched him work, focusing on Jim's still, ashen face. It was so eerie; the stained glass window she had found beautiful and majestic only minutes before seemed distorted and horrid. The colors reflected onto Kirk's pale face, etching a patchwork of designs on him. The pretty glass colored all of the scratches and bruises, painted the dirt… Like a language could color its people, she realized, connecting her life's passion with the horrible situation.

Uhura was so preoccupied analyzing how the situation looked that she only snapped out of her trance when she saw Kirk's eyes flutter open and heard him suck in a ragged, hoarse breath. She didn't know how long McCoy had been working, but it obviously and apparently worked. Jim coughed and sputtered, water and blood shooting out of his mouth. The blood and water mixed, creating a sick sort of pink fluid flowing from his body.

"Bones?" he whispered, his hoarse voice sounding painful as he spoke.

"Yeah, Jim?" McCoy answered. If Uhura had only relied on her highly-trained ear to perceive the situation, she would have thought that McCoy was answering a page from the Captain. But her eyes betrayed her, as she watched the doctor's concerned and heartbroken face as he materialized a medical first-aid kit from seemingly no where.

There was no reply, as Kirk looked intently at McCoy, his eyes squinted tight in pain of and on. He uttered a slight, painful groan every so often, and their hearts moaned with him.

Jim's normally bright and cheerful blue eyes weren't as glazed over as she would have predicted, but intensified with a stabbing, mind-numbing pain. Like ice, they seemed to look right through his doctor friend. Staring intently, it was almost as if he was seeing without really _seeing_, as if he was focused on something they could never be. Jim Kirk, walking controversy and contradiction, was at the same time, the most public and private man she had ever known. He had a knack for annoying his crew (in an endearing way of course, or maybe he just perceived it to be so) with his constant banter and running commentary on… well, life. Every detail was shared about the who, what, and the now, whether anyone cared or not. And then at the same time, he was dark and brooding, hiding certain information about his own past and emotions. These conflicting situations made him emotionally unpredictable. Reactions from his crew either pulled from an excessive store of eye-rolling and sighs ("There he goes again."), silent gasps of shock, or a bubbling concern that was unexpected and almost unwanted at the same time.

Jim Kirk was a walking contradiction. A running controversy in itself.

And now he just had to live to continue it all. _C'mon, Jim_, Uhura thought, not having the guts or nerve to whisper it out loud. _You've got to make it_, she stated in her head, watching as McCoy ripped the injured captain's gold shirt open with a pair of medical scissors.

The blood still flowed freely from Jim's shoulder, where Kaime had stabbed him, cascading over the majority of the captain's torso. It was hard to see because of all the blood, but Uhura could make out other distinct slashes and bruises, cuts and contusions, lacerations and slices. How did he still have enough blood to live, when he was bleeding out from almost every end? His chest forced itself up and down, moving in a painful motion. She listened to his gravelly breathing, the hoarse gasps of air that she knew could hardly satisfy him.

She watched both men, one dying, the other uninjured, wince- one at pain, and the other at causing extra harm, even for medical purposes. No one should have to watch their friend like this, in agony. And no one should think, even for a moment, that they were the one causing it.

* * *

_I must find a way for them to abandon their weapons_, he planned, a sort of bitter determination overcoming him. This was something he had to do; he had to figure out how to defeat a mob of twenty furious council members without becoming the next casualty.

_The Captain would not want me to think negatively_. Maybe that was the trick- think like Jim Kirk.

Jim would be useful in that situation, if he was some way available. He was always good at manipulating emotions, charming crowds, and influencing opinions. It was a strange, annoying, and yet somehow, amazingly useful talent his friend seemed to have. Do the impossible, the illogical, the most unpredictable…

_Peace! Not violence! That is the answer… Peaceful negotiation. _The half-Vulcan realized his strategy, sending a glance toward the fallen friend who had given him the idea in the first place before turning back to the swarm of angry people.

_You will- you must!- survive, Jim,_ Spock thought, turning back towards the crowd.

* * *

Jim suddenly turned his head to look at his communications officer, squeezing her caramel-hued hand. "So… many colors," he breathed, his normally husky and determined voice weak and faltering with a haze of pain. His breathing was heavy and light all at once, his voice coming out as a mere whisper while he tried to keep the difficult respiration constant.

"The glass? The windows?" Uhura inquired, not sure what he meant.

He winced again as Bones slid his arms out of the torn sleeves of his shirt, discarding them by his side. The once yellow, golden shirt seemed orange, stained with a rusty layer of deep red blood. "No," Jim answered. "The… the pain."

Uhura looked at him intently, wondering if he was in his right mind. Now why would he say something like that? That was oddly… intuitive for him, injured or not, dying or not. That was deep.

"St-stowaway," he told them, and immediately the entire predicament made sense.

Kirk cried out, and McCoy stopped a moment before continuing. "I know it hurts, Jim, but I've got to get you somewhat stable before we try to move you. It'll be better in the long run, I promise."

That didn't sound like McCoy at all, Uhura realized, but certain situations change people's demeanors. How hard this must have been for him, she thought later, keeping his focus while still realizing that if he failed, his best friend was going to die. How do you get over the death of your best friend without leaning on your best friend for support?

"Your… bedside manner… really sucks," Jim managed to gasp out. McCoy attempted to paint a small, encouraging smile on his concerned face for his friend as he applied pressure to the stab wound on his shoulder. It was really deep, but he couldn't be sure of all of the damage until they returned to the Enterprise. At least Jim was making sense. _His sense of humor wasn't harmed, that's for sure_.

"That's something we can discuss _later_, Captain Kirk. I'm too busy trying to save your sorry ass right now, thank you very much. Damnit, Jim, what did they do to you?"

There wasn't an answer, and Bones hadn't expected one. Kirk's eyes were squeezed tight in concentration, trying to keep breathing. Why was it that something that should have been so easy was so damn hard? He had used a lot of unnecessary energy speaking, and McCoy was relieved that he was quiet for now.

"How is he still conscious?" the doctor said, and Uhura wasn't sure if he was talking to her or to himself.

Jim tried to say something, and she moved a finger to his cracked and bleeding lips. "Don't talk; not now, Jim." He managed to muster up a pathetic smile for her, and she squeezed his hand.

His eyes slid closed again, and he didn't reopen them. "Is that okay?" she asked McCoy, worried.

"Yes and no," he replied, moving two fingers to Kirk's wrist to take a pulse before looking slightly concerned. "I don't know when... or if he'll wake up… I'm losing him, his pulse is too weak. We need to get him to Medical, on the ship, now, or it'll be too late. He's lost too much blood, and there really isn't anything else I can do for him right now. At least he can't really feel anything right now."

Uhura held his limp hand in her own, rubbing small circles into Jim's marred, dirty, and bloody skin. She raised it up to her lips and kissed it, letting all of the situation soak in. He was going to die if they didn't get out of there now. The tears flowed freely, but all she saw was the blood soaking his face.

Why was she getting so emotional? This was that arrogant bastard Jim Kirk, who had tried to hit on her so many times, who had just about mutinied against Spock, her love interest… But he was also her friend, and her captain, and she loved him like a brother. It had taken this long to realize it, but she couldn't lose him, not like this. She needed to talk to him… This situation had changed her, changed how she looked at him, changed their relationship completely. They were reluctant friends, but friends none the less. And she would not lose him like this.

McCoy knelt by the lower half of Jim's body, reaching out to put a hand on his friend's uninjured shoulder. "C'mon kid, just a little longer…"

Uhura turned to look at Spock, who was standing in the sanctuary addressing the entire crowd. The angry group had calmed down somewhat, quietly filed into the wooden pews. She had somehow tuned out his voice, booming and echoing through the blood-covered church, focusing on the situation in front of her.

"Spock? Y'just about finished there?" McCoy called out, not really looking at the half-Vulcan he was addressing but instead glancing at the dying, limp form of Jim Kirk strewn on the floor in front of him. Despite his best efforts, he could not slow all of the bleeding, and a pool of blood was forming beneath his friend. How had he not died of blood loss yet? He took a pulse, and found that it was much weaker than it had been only a moment before. He wasn't sure that it was possible for it to fade anymore without stopping completely. "Spock, we have to get out of here _now_." It wasn't a question, nor a statement. It wasn't a request- it was a demand.

Spock nodded. "I trust that you all see the situation from our point of view now, yes?"

Various members of the group called out, "Aye," "Yes," or "Affirmative," with several others raising their hands in agreement and nodding.

Spock rushed to McCoy and Uhura, glancing at his romantic partner. "How is he?"

"We have to get him medical attention _now_, or he'll…" she related to him, wiping away an unwanted tear. Damn, why did Spock have to see her like this, crying over the inevitable death of another man?

"I'll be blunt, he's dying, Spock. We have to get him out of here now," McCoy stated, trying to mask the emotion that wanted to burst out, screaming and shouting until Jim sat up, told him that it was all a joke, and clapped him on the shoulder as he screeched for Bones to shut up.

The two men carefully picked Jim up, McCoy carrying his head and torso, with Spock holding his long legs and feet. "Is he stable?" Spock inquired, finally getting a good look at his captain's face.

"No. There's only so much I can do in a church," McCoy answered, looking back over his shoulder at the various pools of blood around the floor, and the now pink water recycling through the once-beautiful and majestic waterfall.

Uhura walked beside them, trying to compose herself. "How did you get them all to sit down and listen to you?"

Spock shrugged, trying not to drop Kirk's limp form. "I simply though like Jim Kirk and did the unpredictable thing- I convinced them that Kaime was a murderous dictator and that their current state of government was ridiculous and corrupted. They were deeply mourning the death of one of their council members, so it was not difficult to use their emotions against them."

Uhura frowned. "That's very unlike you, Spock."

"It is also unlike you to show so much emotion, but apparently this situation-Jim… The though of losing our captain has changed the way we see the problems of this particular occasion."

McCoy managed to roll his eyes despite himself. "Okay, can we get over this lover's spat and try to get Jim to a place where they can beam us up?" He had always thought that Spock had a way with awkwardly phrasing things, but this was ridiculous.

They carried Jim outside and looked for a clear area. "Uhura, alert medical," McCoy directed her.

"Enterprise, this is Lieutenant Uhura. Four to beam up. Have a medical team waiting."

"You've found him, then? Alive? Good work," said Scotty.

They froze in their tracks, waiting for the inevitable golden sparks to take them back. Uhura blinked, missing it, finding herself in the transporter room of the Enterprise.

But not before hearing a muttered, "Thank you, Jim," come from her left.

She smiled, despite herself. She knew she loved Spock for a reason.

"Oh my!" Scotty exclaimed upon seeing his captain's limp, injured form where McCoy and Spock had laid him on the ground.

And suddenly, all hell broke loose in mass chaos. She was vaguely aware of a gurney, several hands of many different sizes and colors lifting Jim up and placing him on it, someone gently jamming an oxygen mask over his pale face, McCoy quickly shouting out orders at the top of his lungs…

And then it was quiet. Jim was gone, wheeled to sickbay, where they'd hopefully save him.

"Are you alright?" Spock inquired.

"I will be," she replied, mustering up a smile for the man she loved before slipping her hand into his. They both knew where they were going.

* * *

Several hours and containers of blood later, Kirk and his many attendants and doctors exited surgery.

She had ignored her duties, as had the Acting Captain standing next to her outside of sickbay. Uhura had to know if he was okay… She was relieved to have him with her for moral support. Who knew that the seemingly-emotionless man could provide so much for her own emotional welfare?

McCoy was the last out, pausing to speak to his fellow crew members. He was wearing surgical clothing that they knew had been white at one point, but was now splattered red. Uhura shuddered, and Spock placed a willing hand on her shoulder, guiding her towards the good doctor so she could listen to him.

"How is he, McCoy?" she inquired, frightened by the sight of blood- Jim's blood- covering the surgeon's garments.

"He's stable, for now. Not sure any of the blood that was in his body before he… er, left is still there. Had to give him a lot of blood, that's for sure. He can't breathe on his own without help, but that's what happens when you have a punctured, semi-collapsed lung. He's unconscious- got a pretty nasty concussion at some point."

Uhura swallowed. "You'll let us know if anything changes?"

McCoy nodded. "He'll live. It'll take a few weeks for him to get back to a semi-regular schedule, but he'll be up to annoy and charm everyone in a few days."

"Really? You think he'll recover that quickly?" she asked, pleasantly shocked.

McCoy laughed, and Uhura forgot how good and pleasant that sound was- happiness, hope. "No. But that won't stop him."

They grinned at each other before the doctor turned back to his duties.

"Nyota," Spock called. "You should be in bed- it has been a difficult day for us all, I believe."

She turned to him and smiled, throwing her arms around him when she was sure no one was looking. "I'm so proud of the way you dealt with those people. He'd be proud of you too, you know."

He looked intrigued. "Who?"

"Kirk. He'll be thrilled to hear that he's rubbing off on you."

Spock shrugged. "I do not think it is wise to add to that insufferable ego of his."

She laughed at his honesty. "I love you, Spock. I was so scared today… I never thought I could care about Jim Kirk like that. But I do. Promise me that I'll never have to go through anything like that with you, Spock. I love you too much."

He paused before answering. "And I you, Nyota, but it is illogical to make a promise regarding situations out of our control."

She nodded. "But it would make me _feel_ better."

"Then I could promise you the moon, Nyota- but it would not keep me from bodily harm. Or Kirk, for that matter, as he is a… I think the term is 'danger magnet?'"

Uhura pulled him by his hand back to the medical bay. "I want to see him."

Spock appeared slightly taken aback by this. "I am not sure, in your current emotional state, that this is the wisest course, Nyota."

"I want to see him," she repeated, no emotion present in her tone.

Spock paused again. "I will be waiting out here for you."

Uhura nodded before turning toward the doors.

"What are you doing back here again?" McCoy asked, not taking his eyes off of the data pad in front of him.

"I want to see Jim."

McCoy looked up and frowned. "Not sure he'd like that. You know how he gets when it comes to his 'macho' image."

Uhura giggled in spite of herself. "I need to see him, McCoy. I need to know he's okay. I need to _see_ that he's okay."

He nodded and led her to the bed.

Jim was unconscious and eerily still, but, breathing tube and all, looked much better than she had last seen him. Some of the color (not from the reflections of windows, thank goodness) had returned to his face, and the various bruises and gashes were covered by thick white bandages. He could be sleeping; the pain-filled agony was not present in his features.

"How is his shoulder?" she asked, recalling the painful expression on Jim's face as he received the injury.

McCoy frowned. "That one was tricky. He lost a lot of blood from that one- one of the worst knife wounds I've ever seen."

Her eyes widened. "You've seen a lot then, I take it?"

The doctor smirked. "When you're friends with Jim Kirk, you see a lot of things you never expected to see," he recalled. "The knife tore through a lot of tissue- it missed all of the organs and arteries, thankfully, though with all of the damage, it was barely an inch away from his heart."

"He'll be okay, though, right?"

"He's Jim Kirk. He's always okay," he said simply, referencing the conversation they had on the bridge hours and hours before.

Uhura nodded, leaning over to squeeze the unconscious captain's hand. "We have a lot to talk about when you wake up," she whispered, before dropping his limp hand, waving goodbye to McCoy, and exiting the sickbay.

Spock was waiting for her, just like he had said. She threw her arms around him.

"How is he, Nyota?"

"Hurt. But stable," she related, playing with his short dark hair. "Spock?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

* * *

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"Being there. I know we don't have the greatest relationship ever, but it meant a lot that you were there."

"You were hurt, Jim," she told him, brushing his sandy hair out of his face.

James T. Kirk had woken up two days later. Two hours later, Bones (after bitching Kirk out about freaking him out again) had permitted visitors, and Kirk was surprised to see that Nyota Uhura was the first person coming through the medical bay doors.

He blinked at her, looking confused. "Something's different about you, Uhura. I mean, I'm glad you're here and all, but… I'm a little confused as to why. You're acting really weird."

She smiled at him. Uhura frowned for a moment, thinking, before leaning over to gently give him a hug. "Some things have changed, that's all. I just… I know we've had our differences, Jim, but… I couldn't lose you."

Jim smirked. "At least I know one person is going to come to my funeral. Right Bones?" he called out to the doctor walking by his bed.

"Yup. Sure, Jim," he replied, before whipping out a hypospray and stabbing the captain in the neck.

"Hey! Wait! That's not…" Jim trailed off, unconscious once more.

Uhura laughed. "Was that really necessary?"

"I have a box of these in my office that is marked 'For when Jim gets Annoying.' Trust, me, that was necessary. Moron."

The communications officer bid him good day before leaving, and Bones returned to the unconscious form in the bed, speaking even though he knew Jim couldn't hear him. "You really scared us, Jim. Glad to have you back. Hate to break it to you, you depressing idiot, but you'd have more than one person at your funeral."

McCoy sighed, before patting the unconscious captain on his good shoulder and returning to his office to fill out some paperwork. _I'd almost rather hear Jim whine_, he mused.

**Author's notes: Well, that's it! **

**I don't know why the bottom of the second author's notes repeated at the end of the last chapter, but I can't fix it for some reason. Oh, well.**

**Title explanation-**

**-The glass all over the place in Jim's quarters with blood on it (the glass is stained by the red)**

**-Obviously the stained glass in the church**

**-Jim seeing the pain in colors  
**

**-The glass reflected on Jim's face**

**-The way the situation is "staining" Uhura's perception of Kirk from her already solid (glass-like) opinion of him**

**-Spock taking his strategy from Jim- using his colorful experiences with Jim to influence his normally stoic and different (clear, like glass) strategies**

**-McCoy's friendship with Jim changes his level of concern as he tries to stabilize Jim**

**How'd I do? I was kind of worried about writing Spock- I think he's a bit of a challenge.  
**

**Plug: Shoreleave's **_**CMO Confidential**_** really explores the awesome McKirk friendship.**

**Update, 5/2012: Took off the last two chapters, leaving it off here! Thanks to everyone who read this story.  
**

**-Marty :-D**


End file.
